Wintertime in Nevassa
by Flying Banana Dinosaur
Summary: It was cold, and he was hungry. First part of a two-shot.


Edward had never really liked wintertime in Nevassa. For one, it was freezing cold. Regular clothes were hard enough to come by – but nice, thick pants or coats? Those were unheard of among the impoverished factions of the citizenry.

So was nice food. He'd gone hungry so many times that it was just his nature to plan nights full of work rather than sleep; for the dozens of orphans who had died in the depths of the bleak, unending grayness, he would never back down from his duty. Night after night, he and countless others, some children, others grown men and women, would take to the streets, begging the drunkards outside of taverns for spare change, while others would break into the buildings in the marketplace and warm, inviting homes that they would never have for themselves, just to steal enough bread to make it through the night. Some unlucky souls had to resort to walking the streets of the upper-class district, even, hoping that some noble child would be stupid enough to give them a share of their daily allowance in return for sharing a bed. Many of those who had ventured into those streets never came back; several bodies had been found along the icy river nearby, beaten and broken beyond recognition, while others simply disappeared into the enormous houses. Rumor had it that the nobles especially liked to keep young men and women as their personal slaves. Edward might have been a simple child, but he was never dumb enough to take those rumors lightly.

On this particular night, a frigid north wind had closed most of the markets early. The constant gusting could only mean one thing, and that was that a huge blizzard was rolling in. The boy stood atop a stack of old, half-rotten crates in an alley across from one of his favorite places to score an easy meal, perched silently while he waited for the last of the lights to die out inside. He knew the old couple who ran the place couldn't really afford to lose any more of their profits during the winter, and he felt horrible about what he was going to have to do, but there was no helping it. In this monochrome world, only those who were willing to sever all ties to their morality would survive. He had to find shelter before the snowstorm hit, and nowhere else was safe to strike just yet.

Once the fires in the hearth had died down, Edward crept from his hiding place and circled the block, ignoring the pitiful wails of mothers who had lost their children to the chill already. By morning, they would know that they had made the wrong choice in their hesitation to mourn. He chose his steps carefully, avoiding the floods of the working class who were retiring to their homes for the night, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. He made to turn the final corner on his trip, having successfully navigated the dingy streets, when something caught him by surprise – literally.

Having his arm twisted that far backwards was something he never really wanted to live again, but it was better than getting tossed into the river or being beaten to death. "A rat like you has no business around these parts. You better get going before you make a stupid decision."

The man who had spoken inches from Edward's ear released him, twisting his arm just enough that the boy lost his footing and toppled to the cobbled stone below. Wincing, scowling, he looked up into the cold eyes of a Begnion soldier before realizing how close he'd come to messing up. He slowly made his way back onto his feet, trying not to cower at the presence of all that armor or the blade glinting at the man's side. "S-sorry, sir," he managed to choke out. "I'm just looking for my father. Mum sent me to fetch him before the weather gets any worse... he works just down the street, at the butcher's place."

The man looked him up and down. "Your parents could work a little harder to get you some better clothes, could they not?"

Edward swallowed a lump in his throat that wasn't there, letting his eyes water against the cold, dry wind. "Father just recovered from a leg injury. We've been struggling to make ends meet all this time, so... everything is going to taxes they owe, sir. Once the winter is gone, we should be all right, but until then, I have to do my best to help them both!"

The man looked off to the side. "Don't let them know I saw you pass. Go get your old man, kid. And hurry."

By "them," Edward supposed he was speaking of the other guards who were on patrol until the sun set. However, he didn't dally to think on it; he nodded and stumbled off, grumbling towards the sky above for every accursed nerve in his left shoulder as his arm dangled uselessly at his side. His destination was just up the street, but now, his chances of breaking in without getting caught were very, very slim. He supposed he could try to gather whatever scraps he could from any of the garbage heaps that hadn't been burned yet, but the chances of finding anything edible were even worse than those of him doing a cartwheel with his current injury. Besides, he could feel that soldier's eyes burning into his back; he wasn't being let off the hook that easily. He was, frankly, surprised that he wasn't being pursued, but maybe some of the Begnion dogs weren't doing this by choice... not that it made it right.

By the time he was a safe distance away from the wary guard to make a run for it, he had long since passed the bakery. His stomach was cramping at the mere thought of another night without food, and to make his current situation even worse, the knowledge of the impending weather was enough to make him sick with worry on top of it. If the snowfall was anything like the city was expecting, there would be no opportunity to leave whatever meager shelter he could scrounge up at this point. Attempting to walk more than a block in that kind of situation had sent countless friends to their deaths. After tonight, there was no guarantee of food for what could amount to weeks.

With a sigh, he scampered off into the darkest of the alleys he knew, headed to the one place he'd told himself he would never approach. Maybe, just maybe, if he could use his injury to his advantage, he could garner the sympathy of one of those pathetic noblemen, and he wouldn't have to starve to death in this miserable winter storm. Losing his dignity was better than losing his life.


End file.
